


empty canvas and purple ink

by Oh_well_Em_writes



Series: Makeup boys [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), thiam - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, M/M, Makeup, Mutual Pining, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Pining, Sexual Tension, but it's not that bad- or not negative in a way that it hurts others, everyone says thank you Mason!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2020-10-14 02:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20593100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oh_well_Em_writes/pseuds/Oh_well_Em_writes
Summary: Theo has always thought dares were stupid.But he never knew one could turn out changing so much in himself.What happens when Theo is dared to put lipstick on? What happens when Liam cannot forget what he's seen?"He cannot see anything but Theo, in front of him again, with his lips painted purple, and there’s a fleeting thought about being in a dream within a dream. He’s seen this image so much in the back of his mind, playing like an old movie in a dusty attic. Though, it doesn’t stop, it never did since the time he first saw it. The image is now printed behind his eyelids, and when he cries, the tears are purple ink."





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I know it's been a while. Sorry about that! But now I'm here with a new story (though, to me, it's very old as I've been working on it for almost a year???)!
> 
> I don't know the number of chapters yet, but I can tell you my doc's got, like, +15k words so expect a lot of confused feelings, haunting thoughts & repressed desire...
> 
> I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Here it goes! :)

Theo usually doesn’t mind small parties with the people he calls friends. Going at Mason’s with the little crew they managed to form over the years is something he’s quite familiar with. It’s usually a Friday night, pizza and five or six people watching a movie or playing video games. It’s not much. Theo doesn’t mind it.

It’s just that tonight, he feels tired and somehow Liam managed to convince him to tag along even if his head aches lightly and that his limbs feel heavy. it’s just that tonight, Scott, Stiles, Lydia and everyone older that had left for College is now back and sat on the floor and sofas, chatting happily as he walks in behind Liam and Hayden, whose hands are firmly clasped together.

  
And there’s this bloody hat. Theo hates it, he doesn’t want to hear about it and about the torn pieces of paper that are mixed inside. He hates truth or dare and he really wants to turn invisible right now. Can Corey help him out of this?

  
He sits back, silently munching on his pizza and ignoring the conversation going around, focusing on the TV screen and acting like he’s all alone. Hoping that for a reason or another, the hat will be set on fire and be burnt to the ground. But it doesn’t happen. Beers are open on the table, many already emptied and Kira is getting up excitingly, with an evil grin on her face.

  
At that, Theo shrinks even more on himself than he already is. “Guys! How about we start now?” she says, chuckling, a can in her hand, the other taking the hat from the coffee table. “We’ve worked hard on those ones, so hopefully you’ll enjoy it! Don’t worry, they’re not _that_ evil.” she says enthusiastically, and Theo hates the way she stresses the word ‘that’. All those dares are pretty stupid, he’s sure. And so are the truths. He doesn’t know which one of the two categories he hates the most.

  
And so she sits back down, everyone following to somehow form a circle around the table and the hat that has found its place back in the middle of it. Liam scoots closer to him, his crossed-legged making it impossible for Theo to keep distance between them if he tried. He can feel his body warmth sipping through his jeans where their knees are touching. He suppresses a shiver and stands up to get another piece of pizza, also probably aiming to hide behind the kitchen counter when no one looks his way; he’s sure nobody would notice anyway, as long as they don’t see him_ actually doing it._

  
He takes a slice from the box, turning to face the group sat in a circle and sighs – Lydia is burning holes in his face and Liam is looking at him expectantly as if to say “we’re waiting for you, come on”, which is stupid, but Theo sighs again and inevitably walks back to his place.

  
“So, everyone ready?” Stiles asks, making some nod, others look up from their phones, and some roll their eyes. As no one answers in the negative though, Stiles adds: “Let’s get started! Mason, you start!” he exclaims, sliding the hat across the table towards the man, who scowls.

  
“Why me?” he says, defeated.

  
“Because it’s your party, I guess.” Scott says with a smile, and Stiles nudges his shoulder in a ‘that’s my boy’ fashion that Theo has always found ridiculous. At that, somewhat fair, explanation, Mason sighs and plunges his hand into the hat.  


* * *

  
It goes around the table. Most of the dares are very stupid ones. Scott’s hair is full of egg and flour, Malia has ran outside topless, not that she seemed to mind it (“It’s dark outside anyway”) and the truths have been somewhat funny or embarrassing, but to that, Theo hasn’t paid much attention.

  
Liam picks his piece of paper and is dared to eat a slice of pizza with hot sauce on it; he’s never minded spicy food but the amount Stiles (Stiles, of all people, drunk and evil.) has put on it definitely was a bit too much. He’s bent over the skin, drinking milk while trying to finish the slice like he’s been asked to, and he can’t stop screaming curses and half words that no one can truly make out.

  
When he faces them again, the bottle of milk still in hand, a switch in Theo seems to be turned on at the sight. His eyes are full of tears, red, as is his whole face, and the fact that this is Liam hurt, somehow makes Theo’s whole being turn alert. He almost gets up to check on Liam, without meaning to, without even thinking about it.  
When Liam walks back to the circle and sits, crossing his legs again, his knee rests over Theo’s. The latter can’t take his eyes off of him, his running eyes and nose, or the redness of his face and the way he seems to have troubles to breathe. He almost forgets about the hat and how he’s next.

  
People cheer for Liam, Hayden kisses his cheek and some pat him on the back in congratulation, and Theo only realises it’s his turn when Liam shyly slides the hat towards Theo, his bloodshot eyes barely meeting his green ones.

  
Inhaling sharply, biting his lips to stop himself from saying he doesn’t want to do it, he puts his hand in the hellish pool of paper and searches around a bit. Once, twice. Does it again, taking his time. None of the pieces that his fingers seem to grab give him a feeling of comfort big enough to decide to pick, but he feels all the eyes on him and he just resigns to take the one his fingertips hold unto.

  
He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, stares at the folded paper as he puts the hat back on the table in front of him and grimaces. He really doesn’t want to look. This game is stupid, and he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself because a piece of paper said so.

  
Liam’s eyes on the side of his face seem to burn, and Theo only opens the paper when there’s a gentle and secret nudge from a knee to his own.

  
_“If you usually don’t wear lipstick, go put on some. The person who owns one closest to you at your right may let you borrow it. _  
_If you usually do, pick another paper.”_

  
He reads it once in his head, bites the inside of his cheeks harshly and draws out blood. He bends down silently to his right to check who he already knows is there and will have to lend him a lipstick if he does the dare. Hayden darkly stares back at him when she meets his gaze.

  
He sits back straight, everyone around him urging to tell them what it says. They’re too enthusiastic for it. Theo really wants to run away.

  
He reads the scribbled lines again, making sure of what it says but as his eyes go over the second sentence, a hand snatches the paper from his now sweaty fingers. Theo almost yells.

  
Stiles is stood up where he was previously sat, hands holding the paper open and starts reading it out to everyone in the room. At the word Lipstick, most of the head are turned his way, and he clenches the can in his hand. They all seem to find it quite amusing, which annoys him so much more.

  
He has no chance to put it back and change it now, reality is looking him straight in the face and it’s either he does it and humiliates himself, either he runs away and _humiliates_ himself.

  
Nice one, Raeken, nice situation you got yourself into. And he can’t even shut out the voice in his head who’s also mocking him.

  
The sounds seem to tune out as everyone talks at the same time, noticing that Hayden is the one chosen to give him a lipstick, urging her to look in her bag to find the one she’s wearing, Theo staring at his can. He feels both panicked and numb, which is such a strange mix, and he doesn’t seem to be either able to think or move an inch.

  
He only looks up when Kira calls his name loudly enough, and sees Hayden, a deep scowl on her face, leaning over Liam. He only now notices that her lips are a shade of dark purple, almost black. She’s handing him a dark tube and he doesn’t want to take it. At all.

  
Kira does instead and says: “I’ll put it on you if you don’t want to do it yourself.” and she’s smiling gently, but there’s amusement in her eyes and Theo would rather die than have someone put lipstick on him. If he has to, he’d rather do it himself.

  
The annoyance that the offer adds to his current state finally makes him move and he snatches the tube from her hands. He gets up, grumbling “I can do it myself, thanks.” and stomps his way to the closest bathroom, that Mason thinks useful to indicate the position of – as if Theo didn’t know it already. At least it makes people laugh.

* * *

  
Theo stares at his reflection, in aim to calm himself, before anything. He breathes in, and out, his own eyes roaming his face. He tries to smooth his features to get rid of the look of panic and annoyance, and when he’s finally somewhat satisfied with his inner self and the way it (doesn’t) show on his face, he looks at the dark tube laid in the bottom of the sink.

  
It’s almost mocking him.

  
He can still hear the others in the living-room, laughing at what is probably the next dare, and he considers never coming out of this room ever again.

  
He waits a minute, two, and soon there’s a loud knock on the door, with Stiles' laughing voice asking him if he got lost. He grumbles a 'fuck you', which makes Stiles laugh and keep talking, somehow.

  
“Come on, it’s not that bad, Raeken.” he says, and Theo doesn’t answer until he hears Scott, whose voice is a bit slurry, tell his best friend to leave him alone and seemingly drag Stiles back to the living-room.

  
He doesn’t move until he’s sure everyone on the other side of the door is gone, and he finally looks back at his reflection, his gaze falling on his lips.

  
A voice in his head teases him, telling him it’s not that big of a deal, as Stiles stated earlier, that the sooner it’s done, the sooner he’s getting rid of it; and probably leaves the party.

  
It keeps going until Theo snaps and opens the lipstick, staring at the dark purple and leans angrily towards the mirror. He glares at himself, before watching his own lips again.

  
He thinks of the movies he’s watched, and the rare occasion he witnessed people applying the cosmetic, and lets his lips fall open. The frown doesn’t leave his face as he shakily brings the stick to his bottom lip, tentatively tracing it. He stops when he gets to the corner, looking at what he’s done.

  
He can’t believe he’s doing this. But at least he’s doing it quite well, and the fact that the dark purple has not gone anywhere out of the pink of his lips leaves a sensation of pride tingling in his stomach. That he tries to suppress because he’s Theo Raeken and he shouldn’t find any pride in putting lipstick on.

  
But as he finishes to trace both his lips, making them pop together as he’s seen done before, the feeling is still there. Stronger than before. His lips are perfectly painted, and he stares at himself, at the contrast between his skin and the now dark colour of his lips, at his own eyes and hair, and he can’t help but think it doesn’t look that bad.

  
It looks good even, and that terrifies him. He feels the urge to wipe it off and flee the house, but he stays frozen in front of the mirror, his panicked reflection staring back, with purple lips that look better on him than it should.

  
Something inside seems to twist his stomach, two iron hands that won't let go, making it hard to breathe, and he bends over the sink, finally able to look away from his own face. He watches his knuckles turning white from where he’s holding unto the edges, and inhales sharply to keep himself grounded.

  
A knock is heard on the door again, this time hesitant, almost, and Theo is brought back to reality. He turns around, facing the wooden door and waits a second.

  
“Theo?” It’s Mason. His voice is no longer tinted with amusement, and it makes both Theo relax and tense at the same time. He doesn’t want people to laugh at him, but he also doesn’t want them to take it seriously – it would make it worse, make it real, somehow. Make how good it fits him something not only him sees.

  
“Mate, you okay? You’re missing the whole game, you know.” he talks again, and he sounds worried. Theo knows he has to answer him or else they’ll finish by breaking the door down thinking he opened his head by falling in the shower or something – not that there is any reason for him to be taking a shower.

  
(Maybe to wash off the lipstick. To wash off his body from the image of his dark lips.)

  
“I’m good.” he answers, his voice almost unwavering. He thinks Mason, through the door, wouldn’t be able to notice it, anyway. “I’ll come out in a minute.” he adds, after a sharp inhale of breath.

  
“Okay great.” Mason tells him, and Theo hears his footsteps fade away.

  
He looks up at his reflection again, ignoring the way it makes emotions storm in his stomach, mix and crash. He breathes in, out. And turns towards the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon! Liam's pov this time... 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. Leave kudos if you want, and comments too! I welcome constructive criticism, so feel free to discuss with me!
> 
> See you soon,  
Em x


	2. two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy! I'm back with a new chapter! Liam's pov this time, so get ready! 
> 
> Enjoy:) see you in the comments.

Hayden has already drank a fair amount of alcohol and is leaning against him, laughing loudly at Scott’s story. Liam almost can’t concentrate, the drinks fogging his mind also, and for some reason, he can’t stop thinking about the fact that Theo has been locked in the bathroom this long.

He takes sips from his can and participates the best he can, stopping to watch Mason disappear in the corridor where he’d last seen Theo. When Mason comes back, half a minute later, he sits back, catching Liam’s eyes and nodding; as if he had known Liam was dying to know if all was good.

He feels relief flood his body, his shoulders relaxing, and he takes another swing from the can, a smile tugging at his lips. He barely has time to register the hat being passed his way again that everyone falls silent. All eyes are directed the way Mason had come, and now in the intersection between the corridor and the living room, standing silently, is Theo.

His lips a dark purple Liam was used to see on his girlfriend.

And he forgets how to breathe. A scowl has never looked so good, _lips_ never have.

Mason is suddenly getting up, the frozen atmosphere broken, and he’s throwing himself at Theo. “Dude!” he exclaims. “_Dude_, do you realise how good this looks?” he says, an arm around Theo, who’s stiffening by the second. Everyone seems to join in, starting to function again, agreeing on how good he looks with the lipstick on.

Liam hears Hayden scoff next to him, but even that doesn’t make him look away. He seems to be the only one not able to find himself again, falling, spiraling into an abyss he had never known existed, waiting just under his feet. The alcohol and wolfbane makes his head spin. His eyes frantically roaming Theo’s face as Mason tugs him closer, his heart getting faster each step they take towards him.

He feels trapped.

Luckily, everyone seems to focus on Theo, and not on how, when Theo is finally sat next to him, Liam’s eyes seem to be glued on the slightly red cheeks of the boy in question, on how Liam's eyes fall on the dark lips and watch the tongue darting out to lick them.

He only looks away when a hand firmly grips his biceps, bringing attention to the person next to him. Hayden’s eyes are dark when they meet Liam’s. The usual dark that’s directed to Theo, or the people she doesn’t like; but never Liam.

His stomach drops. “Are you done?” she asks, and Liam shivers. He isn’t sure what she means, but his first thought immediately goes to _are you done staring at Theo like that? Are you done with these thoughts?_

And what else could it be anyway? He feels sick, but still unable to stop the images and the words in his head. They only get louder.

Then her hand leaves his biceps and lands on the can he’s holding – not simply holding, it seems, because it’s crushed between his fingers, and only now he realises the metal has pierced his skin slightly. It stings. She undoes his fingers one by one, taking the can away, her face still dark.

Liam has no idea what’s going on. If she was talking about the can, why is her face that dark?

She then bends over Liam, balancing herself over his knees and leaning towards Theo. Liam stares straight ahead, at the black locks now brushing his face. He knows he can’t risk looking at Theo again. Not when he looks like that.

“My lipstick.” she says, her voice venomous, and Liam guesses she probably has it back because, without another word, she goes back to her place. Liam stares at her as she gets her bag, stuffing it inside angrily. He keeps his back turned from the commotion beside him, people still gathered around Theo, enthusiastically complimenting him on the look, to which the boy is either grumbling curses, or asking to be set free to get it off already.

Liam’s stomach is twisted, his head light and somehow so heavy, full of thoughts about that lipstick, full of images of it. He looks at his girlfriend’s lips instead, lips that are sporting the same colour, and lets his gaze locked there.

She probably catches him staring because she leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth. Her features are less tense than before, the dark look that was in her eyes before has somehow disappeared as she looks at him.

Lydia is talking excitedly about colours that could also fit Theo, and that somehow this one is the perfect one, and that she is very happy someone wrote this dare. Theo’s shoulder is resting heavy against Liam’s back, making it impossible to ignore him. Each moves he makes, Liam feels it against him and it puts him on edge – he doesn’t know if it is the alcohol speaking, if it the substance running through his veins that makes him more sensitive to his surroundings, or to _Theo_, but it’s becoming unbearable.

Hayden’s thumb is stroking the skin of his knee that pokes out of his shorts, and it isn’t soothing, somehow. He stares at it, a second, two, then Theo is pressing against him, and he shots up, stumbling as Hayden and Theo lean away, looking up at him. He ignores both, and bolts to the bathroom where Theo had made his transformation.

* * *

Liam can’t stop thinking about it. About the stupid lipstick. He’d gone home with Hayden that night, and when he'd woken up, the first thing he’d seen was her naked shoulder by his side. The second was the dark purple stain on his wrist, traces of lips smudging his skin.

Images of the night before flood his mind, not of his girlfriend’s arms around him, but of lips that are not hers. And in that moment, sickness finds his stomach again, that he blames on the alcohol drunk, and he stumbles out of bed, making his way to the bathroom.

He stops in front of his mirror though. The feeling in his stomach disappearing for a moment as he takes himself in, his sleep dusted eyes staring back at him.

His skin seems paler under the artificial light, paler because of the many lip marks left on his neck, on his chest, on his shoulders. All dark purple. Two lips so visible. Almost like bruises. And he can’t take his eyes away.

His own lips are darker than they usually are.

All he sees are dark lips leaving those marks and strong hands holding him still against the mattress. He feels like a canvas. He wants to be painted, all dark purple. Again and again. The sight in front of him is one he doesn’t want to forget, it burns him to think about it, fills him with guilt. But he can’t stop it.

He feels sick when he walks back to his room, silently stepping towards the bed and getting his phone from the bedside table, he feels sicker when he opens the camera and snaps a picture of his body painted in purple. He hasn’t been able to stop himself from doing it, and he then can’t help the sick feeling from taking over and he’s bending over the toilet, emptying his stomach.

When he’s done, Hayden has woken up and is rubbing his back comfortingly. The feeling is still there, eating him away, and the picture is still in the camera roll.

* * *

Liam can’t stop thinking about it. The next Monday, at school, he tries not to look at Theo who’s standing at the end of the corridor, tries to breathe properly and ignore the way his skin tingles where he’s purposely left a stain on his neck. It looks like a lovebite anyway.

He barely manages to stop himself from looking at the picture he’s taken – he’d tried to blame it on the alcohol still running in his veins, had tried to blame it on the haze of sleep, but he knows deep inside that he can’t even convince himself. If it had been the case, the picture would have been gone by now, the thoughts would have stopped haunting him.

He dreads the time Hayden will wear the lipstick again, he dreads the time he’ll run into Theo again. Because he’s everywhere, and it’s all about him. Theo shouldn’t have agreed to tag along to the party, he shouldn’t have agreed to do the dare, he shouldn’t have looked like that with lipstick on. He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t.

_Liam shouldn’t_.

But he can’t stop thinking about it, and not only when Theo is in sight; he also thinks about it when he is getting ready for Lacrosse, when Mason is driving them to get iced-coffee during break, when his mum is cooking dinner and he’s chatting with her in the kitchen. And it’s driving him insane. How his fingers itch to reach for his phone and look at himself covered in purple marks, how he aches to see dark lips again, how he is being consumed by the guilt.

He shouldn’t be thinking about anyone but Hayden, shouldn’t imagine anyone but Hayden, and the adrenaline running through his veins when Theo is near shouldn’t be there at all – it makes him sick, he barely eats.

And one day as he lays in bed, it comes down to it. He shouldn’t have these thought. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong. He’s cheating. In his head, at least. And the realisation makes him hate himself, no matter how hard he tries to stop, he can’t, and no matter the many, many things he thinks about to get himself out of the situation, it always comes down to it: he has to leave Hayden.

All of this because of a stupid, damned lipstick.

* * *

It’s a Saturday. A day too nice to mess it up like Liam is going to. There’s finally good weather after a week of rain, and not that much homework. Jenna is even baking a cake in the kitchen, and here he is, texting Hayden, asking her to come over because he has something to tell her.

It’s Saturday, the weather’s nice, and there’s a knock on the door. He gets it before his mum does, and he thinks it couldn’t have started worse. Hayden there’s, all smiles, a leather jacket on and lips painted in dark purple.

Liam’s stomach flips. Of course this had to happen. Of course of course of course. He tenses when she leans in and kisses him. He wonders if his own lips now mirror hers – are they dark purple?

He steps aside, avoiding her gaze, looking in the driveway outside instead. He knows she’s probably frowning. She gets inside and greets Jenna warmly, and he silently closes the door behind her. He stares at the door a second, his hand unconsciously going up to his previously-kissed lips, running a thumb over them. He slowly looks back at his finger, and can distinguish the faintest trace of purple. It dazes him even more.

Turning around is something he finds hard to do. He’d rather stay there and face the door, not having to ask his girlfriend to come upstairs with him and have a talk she probably doesn’t want to have. He isn’t even sure what he wants to tell her. He’s aware the explanation that he ‘doesn’t feel the same anymore’ is weak and really sucks, but that is the truth, simplified, embellished, but the truth nonetheless.

They get upstairs and the dark lipstick is mocking him, both distracting him from what he wants to say and also inevitably reminding him that it is somehow the cause of all of this, to start with.

She’s sat in front of him, and when he starts talking, her face closes off, her lips a thin line, her gaze darkening. A scowl Liam really doesn’t like. She is silent. He does the talking, stumbles over his own words, rambles on until she stops him, with tears in her eyes, her face red.

“Liam. Stop.” she says, and her voice isn’t as cold as Liam expected it to be. “I had a feeling you were being weird. I just thought you’d get over it, that it was just a moment in your life. It happens you know?” she smiles sadly. He swallows, looking at her. The words that kept flowing a moment ago seem to have disolved, he can’t find anything to answer. He doesn’t know if he should.

“If anything is happening in your life, you can talk to me, you know it, right?” he simply nods, his stomach twisted painfully. “But if your decision is taken, then be it. I don’t want to stay with someone I don’t make happy anymore.” she says, and it’s like a rock has been dropped on Liam’s head. Why does it feel like that? He started it all, didn’t he? He truly is stupid.

He simply swallows back the dryness in his throat, blink back the sudden sting in his eyes and takes her in his arms. They stay like that for a while, Liam holding back his tears, Hayden letting hers flow. And he somehow finds rest, doesn’t feel so sick anymore, and his mind even allows itself to be free, for a moment, from those haunting thoughts about darkly painted lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I'll try to post next chapter soon!  
I hope you enjoyed. Leave kudos if you want, and comments too! I welcome constructive criticism, so feel free to discuss with me!
> 
> See you soon,  
Em x


	3. three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm hi.  
I know it's been ages. I'm so sorry and I actually can't believe this myself...! ><
> 
> Anyway here comes chapter 3. A bit of Theo's pov too!
> 
> I hope you enjoy. Thank you for your patience, I love you! [runs to answer comments +100 days old]

Theo can’t stop thinking about it. About how he felt when he first saw himself in the mirror reflection, about how his stomach was flooded with so many feelings he couldn’t tell which one was what the moment everyone was gathered around him and complimenting him. About how Liam hadn’t looked at him after he’d sat down, about how he’d been glued to Hayden’s side. How they left early.

Theo’s lips tingle. They feel empty. They look empty. And he hates it, it doesn’t matter how many times his tongue passes over them, it doesn’t matter how many times he bites them and makes them turn bright red. The copper taste in his mouth doesn’t change a thing.

Not a thing about how his heart had skipped when he’d seen Liam the next Monday, not a thing about how it’d pounded painfully in his chest when against the white skin of his neck, Theo could distinguish the faintest stain of purple lipstick.

As if Liam hadn’t wanted for it to disappear, as if he’d kept it there on purpose; for Theo to see.

And the thought is driving him insane, running after him as he flees his shadow in his own head. He sees Liam’s neck, purple stains all over. He sees his own reflection in the boy’s darkened eyes, and his own lips are painted again. And knows he shouldn’t think about it, but he can’t help it.

He doesn’t see Hayden wearing the lipstick again, barely looks at Liam when they pass each other in the corridor. Barely escapes his own thoughts. He sees purple everywhere though, on the jacket of a boy he couldn’t care less about, on the book he has to read for class, on an advertisement panel in the street.

And the flash of purple, never quite the right colour though, always brings Liam back – Liam with his gaze burning the side of his face when he first sits down after he enters the living-room, Liam, who then doesn’t look at him at all, Liam with dark purple lips stains on his neck.

Liam’s skin, pale against the dark leather of his truck's backseats, pale against the light grey colour of his bedsheets, pale and covered with dark marks, marks made by his lips.

He isolates himself, trying to fight those thoughts, knowing fairly well it isn’t the best way to get rid of them. He knows also that he can’t afford to hang out with Corey, or Mason, or anyone, really, because then the risk to bump into Liam gets way too high.

He hates how a dare started all of this; not only has he liked wearing makeup, as have a lot liked seeing it that night, but now Liam is all he can think about, and he can’t help but wonder if Liam, too, is thinking about it all. If he remembers how Theo looked with his lips painted dark, if it keeps him up at night, too.

Liam is all Theo can think about, and it’s painfully funny because before all of this happened, the boy’s presence in his thoughts had Theo certain it couldn’t get any worse. How wrong was he.

* * *

Liam feels idiotic, but at least the guilt is less present in his whole being, no longer weighing on him like it used to – he feels sadness and relief, mostly. Desire, too, like a flame that has already consumed the major part of his body; unstoppable.

He ignores when Mason frowns and asks why exactly Liam decided to leave. He ignores when his best friend tells him he has noticed him acting strange. He ignores when Theo passes by them in school and how Corey and Mason look at him when he doesn’t talk to him, or about him.

He tries to stop being weird, stop getting up and avoiding conversation when they somehow shift to Theo again, or to his own absurd behaviour. He tries to stop looking at the picture of himself when he lays in the dark before drifting to sleep, tries to fight the urge to look at it again in the morning.

He wants to be covered in purple. Needs it. Almost wishes he could bruise himself and act like it were hot lips leaving them.

Liam feels idiotic, and like his self control has faded away, faded into thin air, and he can try and try again to get hold of it, it never works. He can almost see it float away, colouring the air around in dark purple.

He has always thought his brain didn’t make sense, has always been aware of it and how life seems to play with him like a puppet on a string, putting in his way every thing that could anger him, waving temptations in front of him, see if he reaches for it. And the problem is that he always falls for it.

Never more than in this exact moment does he believe in a superior force joking with people’s lives. Never before has something so outraging be presented to him.

He’s walking through an aisle of the supermarket, spotting his mother at the other end, and he doesn’t check where he’s going. He doesn’t really care anyway, what if those are pastas or books? He just wants to go home, his legs are tired of standing and walking behind his mum.

Turns out he shouldn’t have crossed this way. He should have turned at the aisle before this one, or the one after, or not come here altogether, because as he crosses the aisle, staring straight ahead at the back of his mother’s head not to lose her in the crowd, there’s a loud noise at his right. When he looks at it, someone is crouched down, gathering the things that have fallen down, and Liam realises it.

He’s in the cosmetic aisle. He’s in front of the hair products, and somehow he knows that if he turns around, just there, just behind him, there’ll be makeup. Mascara, eye-shadows, lipsticks… and he can’t even fight it, he can’t even find the strength to tell his body not to turn around that it’s already working on its own and Liam’s eyes now roam the many products, settling on the lipsticks on the bottom line.

His heart is beating frantically, he doesn’t hear the noise around anymore. He scans the lipsticks with a quick movement of the eye, left and right, and settles inevitably on the darkest colours. He only has to take a step forward, that he does mechanically, and he’s standing face to face with the dreadful object haunting his every thought and triggering the deepest desires within him.

Both fascinating and hated object, that he thinks no one should have invented, that shouldn’t exist on the surface of the earth if he’s walking on it.

Has he ever had self control? Has he ever been able to resist to anything before? If he had, then the fine limit between falling and getting vertigo from looking over the edge of the cliff has broken down, in a million pieces, tumbling down like rocks from a landslide, taking Liam with them.

He crouches down, silent, in every aspect but in his head, and reaches for the dark packaging. His hands are shaking, and he realises it’s the only aspect of his body that’s making him look human right now, making him feel human.

Everything is a blur, he’s clenching the thing in his hand, barely looking around, and before he can force himself to put it back, bring himself back to reality with preferably a slap in the face for being so out of control, he’s marching towards his mother’s trolley.

With a scanning look over the people around, and then over the content of the bags, he puts the lipstick between bananas and apples. And when he takes a step back, he only realises he can’t take it back. It’s in there. He has done it. And his muscles don’t listen to him when he screams at himself to throw it away. Does his mind really want to, anyway?

* * *

It makes him think of when he was a child. He’d done that times and times again, and most of those times had been caught. He thinks he’s mastered the art by now, or at least should have mastered it, as he hasn’t done it in years. He didn’t need to.

And now he’s doing it again, emptying the bags of food to put on the conveyor belt, hand clenching the lipstick as he does so. His eyes roam the groceries advancing slowly, trying to find the best place to put it so his mother wouldn’t notice it directly – or at all.

He is seriously going insane. He knows he should have come back later to buy it himself if he wanted it that much – and his whole body is burning because he knows that it’s more than want, he _needs_ it – instead of immaturely sneaking it in his mother’s groceries, but he tells himself it’s too late anyway.

Putting the bread, some biscuits, he hides the lipstick underneath, and with a pounding heart, he keeps emptying th trolley. He keeps glancing at the lipstick, and everything seems to go as planned until life once again decides to laugh at him and his mother walks towards the end of the line just as the cashier takes the lipstick from its hiding place.

He sees Jenna stare at the dark packaging and frown. She stares a second, then watches the girl and asks “Excuse me? Was this on here?”

Liam is dying inside, he feels his stomach drop and his cheeks heat up. He wonders if there is any way the earth could swallow him up right this second. The girl behind the counter nods, answering in the positive and then Jenna turns to face Liam. Way too slowly.

“Liam?” she says his name just the way he hates hearing it, with a raised eyebrow that says everything and he shifts under her gaze.

“I’ll repay you.” he says, voice wavering slightly, busying himself with the rest of the groceries, not catching her eyes more than he knows is necessary.

She doesn’t say any more, also taking part in the process of gathering the food. She only asks again when they’re both in the car and Liam’s attention is focused more on his phone than natural, his fingers typing away furiously as if something had angered him.

“Is it for you?” she says, not directly mentioning the lipstick – both knew what the next words they’ll be exchanging would be about. The question is making Liam feel weird, because the answer is both yes and no. For him, on him, for his fantasies, but for Theo, his lips and his only, for Theo, to paint him.

“For Lydia. Birthday present.” he manages to say, and he thanks the heavens that his mother has no werewolf ability so she can’t hear how unsteady his heart is right now. He stares back at his phone, not knowing what his mother’s face looks like, or even wanting to.

“All right. You could have asked me though, instead of sneaking it in hoping I wouldn’t see.” she tells him, and he feels her gaze settle on the side of his face before returning in front of her as she starts the car. “You’re not 8 anymore, Liam.” she adds, voice a little harder than before, but she also sounds a little disappointed. Liam sighs. He also is.

“I know. Sorry.” he mumbles, looking up from his phone and meeting her eyes. She smiles fondly, shaking her head slightly when she catches his expression, a mix of regrets and guilt, and a childish light in his eyes glittering still.

He smiles back, feeling lighter, but only for a second, because he’s too soon reminded of the lipstick somewhere at the bottom of one of the bags in the boot of the car, and how it means he gave in to the temptation. And lied to his mother about it, too.

Liam has heard before that the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it. It doesn’t work. Instead he itches all over, his thoughts are focused more than ever on dark purple and sinful lips, and his own skin, burning at the contact.

* * *

When they get home, he tries to control his behaviour when Jenna gets the lipstick out and puts it on the table. He feels shivers running down his spine as he pinches his lips and forces himself to turn his back to it, busying himself with putting the yoghurts in the fridge.

When everything has been put away in the kitchen, his mother piles up in his arms things for the bathrooms and their rooms that have to be brought upstairs. He stares at the lipstick, who’s on the top of the pile, and he doesn’t why it feels so exhilarating to have his chin holding everything steady and pressuring against the cool plastic packaging.

And when he finally gets his hands on it, he almost feels sick. He doesn’t know what to do with it. Where to put it. How to hide it. He wants to open it, colour his skin with it, check if the shade is the right one. He wants to have his whole body purple and it makes him dizzy.

Before he can decide what to do, or before he gets swallowed by the Earth or by his desires, his phone is vibrating loudly against the wooden material of his desk and he throws the lipstick on his bed as a reflex. He runs to his phone to see Mason’s name and face, to which he shakes his head while answering.

“Yeah?”

“Dude! Dude, you know the books I told you about?”

“The one where everyone dies?”

“Come on, it’s so much more than just that.”

“I know, I know. You’ve talked about it so much that I feel like I’ve also read the trilogy.” he lets out a brethless chuckle, feeling his shoudlers relax as he gets back into natural banter with his best friend. He hears Mason let out an offended scoff at that.

“You wish you had read it, you don’t know what you’re missing. Anyway, that’s not why I’m calling-” he lets a dramatic pause, and Liam knows he wants him to ask the reason. So he does.

“Why did you call?”

“Ah, thanks, I thought you’d never ask! The author. The author, Liam, he’s going to the town that’s 3o minutes away. We have to go meet him!”

“Wait. 1. it’s amazing! 2. we?”

“I know, dude! I’ve not been that excited since my mum announced us we’d be going to Disney Land, and that was years ago! Anyway, yes, we are going! I am going to your place so we can organise that.” he says, as a matter of fact. Liam doesn’t even get time to process it that he hears in the background of Mason’s call a car door being closed.

“No, you’re joking, right? You’re really coming over to plan this out?!” Liam exclaims, both totally bewildered and slightly irritated. He had planned something else. He doesn’t know what, but the lipstick is still laying on his bed, untouched.

“Yep, Liam, your best friend is coming over so you can help him realise one of his dreams! Isn’t that wonderful? Now I’m hanging up, see you in a few!”

“Wait-” and of course, it’s too late. Liam groans. The line is silent but he swears he can hear Mason chuckle proudly in his car. He has no way to say no anyway, and he has to find a place to hide the lipstick – he just can’t imagine what would happen if Mason stumbled upon it. Liam can’t even begin to realise he really bought it. He couldn't begin to explain why it is there.

He turns around in a hurry, making his way to the bed and grabbing the lipstick like Mason is about to burst through the door the following second – he feels his heart hammering in his chest. He has no idea where he should put it.

His eyes scan his room, the potential drawers he could slip it in, between books, between underwear, under his pillow… he decides to walk to the bathroom.

He crouches in front of the cupboard, opens it with busy hands, he hasn’t even thought of putting his phone down – anyway, his hands are shaking so he would have been as clumsy had he been empty-handed.****

The doors open, he’s met by a few towels, metalic boxes, products he somehow had forgotten were there. He put his phone down, the lipstick on top, and opens one of the boxes. It's full of skin products, most of them he doesn't use anymore because he doesn't have time or doesn't think about it. If the use isn't daily, at least he will have one less reason to open it. Though he already knows, his determination to fight urges is wearing thin.

With shaky hands, he slips the lipstick underneath the tubes of cosmetics. When he closes the box, he feels relief flood over him – yet his skin is still tingling all over. It’s there, it really is there.

He stays sat in his bathroom for what might be a minute, the box clutched between his hands. When he feels ready he puts it back in place, stands up and closes the doors. He sighs.

Mason is probably a second away from knocking on the front door. He calls out to his mother saying the latter is going to arrive soon, he faintly hears an answer before he faceplants on his bed, groaning in frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. More is yet to come. I'll see you for chapter 4!  
(Can't promise to say 'soon' though I do want it to be soon.)
> 
> I appreciate you.


	4. four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I took some time updating, I'm not totally satisfied with this chapter but here it is. The next one will be better I'm sure (well, tbh I already know... Haha). 
> 
> Some Mason x Liam interaction! And some Liam x lipstick interactions too...
> 
> Little warning, it is slightly suggestive at the end of this chapter. 
> 
> That's all, see you soon, hope you enjoy!

It’s not that he doesn’t care, because he feels the happiness bubble in his stomach at the sight of his best friend so excited over something so important to him, but his mind doesn’t listen. His body doesn’t, the happiness he shares with Mason is being somehow drowned under anticipation, under spinning thoughts of the lipstick.

“Mase.” he says, and without realising it, he’s asking a question that’s been haunting him. “How do you get rid of thoughts?”

Mason is turning around slowly, the crease on his forehead Liam knows all so well is visible – he’s trying to figure something out, and it probably doesn’t work that well because then he’s asking:

“Thoughts?”

Liam doesn’t know what to answer, how to explain without giving himself away. His throat is closing up at the prospect of talking about it. “Yeah.” he finally manages to say. He hasn't even made up his mind, hasn't decided on what he wants to say next that his mouth opens again. “Thoughts, over and over, that you can’t get rid of no matter how much you try.” he pauses. “obsessive, kinda.”

“Are they… bad?”

“I— I wouldn’t say so, I mean, depends on how you look at it.” Mason’s eyes are narrowing by the second, and Liam swallows hard, shifting on the spot on his bed.

“Okay, dude, is there something you want to tell me?” the offer is tempting, it’s just there, he could reach for it with one of his unsteady hands and grab it, let himself go, let it out in the open and maybe set himself free.

The only problem lies in the fact that to free himself he has to expose himself, and never before has he been so protective over a feeling, over a desire, a flame – he doesn’t think there’s ever been a feeling he’d wanted to keep to himself the way he does this one. He guesses it is because he knows how vulnerable he is, being so enthranced by it.

He stays silent, thoughts spinning in his head, and he startles at the feeling of Mason’s hand on his shoulder. It is supposed to be comforting yet it is putting him on edge, he feels his wolf pacing inside, ready to jump at a potential attack, the prospect of exposing such a hidden part of him scaring it to the bones.

“Liam. You can talk to me, you know that.”

“It’s not easy. I don’t know why I'm like this. It feels so big, so—" he pauses, looking up a second only to stare at his hands again. He puts it the way it is. "It’s overwhelming.”

“Okay man we can get a drink if you need to relax."

“No, no” why is he panicking? “I—” he realises he's falling deeper into his own mind. Before he starts to talk and tell words he doesn't even process, Mason speaks again.

“Can you at least tell me, roughly, what’s going on? You don’t need to tell details, you don’t need to tell me names or anything specific. Just tell me something, I'd just like to help.”

Liam feels the breath catch in his throat. “It’s a flame.” he says, because to him it's what describes it best. A flame, it's everywhere, it’s bright, blinding, unstoppable. It's suffocating, it’s unescapable. A flame. It’s burning him, consuming him, and somehow he welcomes it as much as he flees it.

Mason is silent, he’s staring at the way Liam’s hands are locked together on his lap and the way his knuckles are turning white at the pressure he’s applying.

The seconds they spend in silence are too long for Liam. Yet when Mason talks again, it doesn't feel like a breath of fresh air, it feels like air has been sucked out of the room, straight out of his lungs.

“Lust?”

Lust. Yes. That might be the word. Liam knew it already but hearing it is like an earthquake. He wishes it was only that though, there’s so much more, he doesn’t understand himself. Why Theo, why a lipstick, why a _colour_. 

Liam feels himself pale, and that might be visible because Mason starts to panic slightly, eyes going wide, hands in the air between the two of them, as if he wasn't sure he could touch him.

“Hey, it’s good, it’s alright.” he presses, “it’s all good Liam, it’s normal, it happens.” his best friend squeezes his shoulder, usually so grounding, the touch now doesn’t have the effect it used to, the effect it should have. Liam barely feels like himself.

They make eye contact.

“I’m not sure,” Liam whispers, he isn’t sure of anything, he isn’t sure he can call it normal. He isn’t sure he can accept something like this just 'happens’, it’s more than that, so much more than that. He holds unto that thought, only fleetily thinking that he might be making it worse in doing so. 

It's so much more than that. 

Mason breathes in, raking his brain, trying to find the words. Liam is too focused on his inner turmoil anyway. “Maybe you should do what you want to do, stop putting barriers if it isn’t something that will hurt someone else, sometimes it’s okay to be selfish and yield to the desire. I swear it's okay. ”

Liam stays silent. Mason can probably tell the thoughts are spinning in his mind, with how unsteady his breathing is, how his eyes shake. He still doesn’t realise he’s holding on too tight on his own hands, as if it were the only thing stopping him from falling apart, maybe it is.

Facing Liam’s silence, Mason speaks again. “Liam. Would it hurt anyone else?”

Liam considers it, he focuses on the question, preventing himself from spiraling somewhere else.

Would it hurt someone else? No, probably not. Maybe not. Would he hurt himself? He doesn’t know.

Hurt anyone else?

He shakes his head.

“Then start by letting yourself go. Accept it. Welcome it, even. It’d be easier.”

The words feel like a slap in the face. Liam is scared he’s terrified. The thought hurts, an iron grip squeezing his heart. He finds it hard to breathe, even less talk. he’s back to staring at his hands.

Mason’s two hands land on his shoulders, forcing him to look up. His gaze is determined when he speaks, words going straight to him.

"Liam. Let it go.”

* * *

It’s way too late to still be awake on a school night, but it seems that lately sleep has been running away from him. He’s aware he is falling asleep later and later each day and he also knows why. But tonight the reason is material. It's just there, a few steps away. Just thinking about it makes Liam tremble. He knows he just has to kick his covers, take a step, two, three and push his bathroom door open. Extend his hand, open the drawer and ruffle underneath hair products. Open his fingers, close them. And it’ll be just there. Clenched between his fingers. Cool against his palm.

He had not even managed to open the plastic protection after Mason’s call, he’d just taken fast steps to his bathroom, looked around with sweaty palms holding unto the object of the devil, and rummaged through his drawers to finally hide it there. And since then it’s been on his mind – the longer he resists the temptation, the stronger it gets.

The clock hanging above his desk, facing his bed, is extremely loud in the silence of the night. His bed is too hot, he feels his back stick to his bedsheets. And twisting and turning doesn’t change a thing, nor do his attempts to get rid of the covers.

He counts the seconds now, how it’s getting closer to three am than anything now. Tick tick tick. Tick. Tick. He clenches his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. Tick. Tick. His hands are trembling as they go over and over again through his hair. Tick. His phone lights up showing a notification from twitter, and he takes it, trying to tune out the sound of the clock.

And he hates how when he’s checked the tweet, scrolled down his timeline, and refreshed it, he’s opening his camera roll. Before he realises what he's doing and can stop his fingers, he’s clicked on the picture. It's just there. His messy hair, his pale skin. Purple lips everywhere.

And that’s it. The straw that broke the camel’s back. The end of the line.

It takes him a second to throw his legs out of the bed, his limbs getting caught in his sheets in his hurry. He struggles with them for a moment that seems to him almost too long, then he’s stumbling to the bathroom, his naked feet resonating loudly against the cold tiles. He isn’t even careful about being silent when his hands get hold of the drawer and he almost tears it open. He cannot breathe as he finally gets his hands on the lipstick.

He catches sight of his own body in the mirror, and he stares at the way his cheeks are flushed, and realises how if he was in his right mind maybe the floor would be a bit too cold for his feet, how the chilly night air should help with bringing down his body temperature. It doesn’t help at all.

His gaze goes back to the object in his hands as he breathes in deeply, trying to calm the beating of his heart. He stares at the packaging, at the picture of the woman wearing the colour. How she is so far from being as hypnotising as Theo was. He stares at the name. Bruised plum. He feels the corner of the plastic dig into his palm as his hold tightens.

Bruises.

Bruises.

Love bites.

He swears the room is spinning.

He barely keeps his calm as he tries to open the packaging, tries to tear it open with shaking hands. It doesn’t work. _Why doesn’t it work? _He gets his claws out on reflex, cutting it open harshly. When the cold metal of the lipstick is against his palm he closes his eyes, inhaling.

He knows he mustn’t lose control. He realises how on edge he is when getting his claws back in is harder than it should. His wolf is pacing inside, as if sensing danger. He feels the blood pumping through his body, down his arms to his fingertips. Down to the very end of his feet.

When he opens his eyes again, he forces his movement to be slow. He forces his breathing to settle. He lets his fingers go loose, slowly, to finally reveal the silver metal of the lipstick, how it gently reflects the light. He pries it open and he has to close his eyes again at the sight of the colour. He’s almost sure it’s the same one, or one so similar the thought makes his breath itch.

He holds out his wrist, as if on a trance, he doesn’t seem to remember asking his body to do it. When the dark texture meets his skin he can’t suppress the goosebumps erupting all over his body. He traces a line, slowly, a line, simple, from wrist to upper arm. And when he looks at it, the colour is just right against his skin, but it isn’t enough. He feels it in his bones. It isn’t enough.

He looks up at his reflection, at the paleness of his skin at the artificial light of the room, and he looks completely empty. Totally unfinished. Undone. Apart from the line of his wrist, that’s somehow too perfect, not smudged enough to have been done with trembling hands, in the blur of a moment where the head is swimming in too many thoughts and none, all at once.

He tears his gaze away from the hypnotising line, and stares at the blue of his eyes in the mirror. Stares at himself, at his eyelashes, at his bushy eyebrows and the bridge of his nose. His eyes settle on his lips, at their pink colour and their shape, and they aren’t the lips he wishes he were looking at, they aren’t the lips he wishes were that close, close enough he just had to lean a few inches and capture with his.

But lips are lips and he itches to paint his, just to check. Just to see if his brain can come up with the same consuming obsession it had for Theo’s.

And so with a shaky breath he brings the purple to his lips, making them fall open slightly. He finds it hard to breathe, the anticipation and_ something else_, pressuring on his chest. Hard, heavy, but somehow Liam finds it enjoyable.

The pink of his lips starts to disappear under purple. It’s almost as if his hand was moving on its own, his fingers steady the best they can, the rest of his body shaking. His bottom lip is done, not perfectly so, as it is something he has never done before, but way better than he could have imagined. His reaction to the sight is far from the way he feels even simply_ imagining_ Theo’s bottom lip painted. The thought makes his mouth dry. He forces himself not to lick his lips, and to distract himself from doing so he starts to cover the pink of the other one.

He wonders if a kiss could make his lips that dark, if lips perfectly suited for his were to be pressed there, would his lips be printed of purple?

He guesses it couldn’t work. It doesn’t stop his mind from wondering. And his eyes from staring at his now completely purple lips. The question is still there; how much does he have to put on his lips so a visible mark can be made, how much pressure should be applied against naked skin?

He kisses his own shoulder, the place just above his armpit, closes his eye at the sensation of cool lips against his skin. He knows all too well the lips are his, but he cannot stop his imagination from running free. He feels he is going to be crushed by the desire growing in him, building up like a tidal wave.

It doesn’t mark, only slightly, almost invisible. Frustration bursts in him. He finds himself applying more on his lips without realising. He leaves another kiss on his skin, at the same place. He closes his eyes, slowly parting from his shoulder, praying it would work. He opens his eyes again.

At the sight of two distinct lips on his shoulder, all purple the way it should be, something warm settles in the bit of his stomach. Something warm, and heavy, something that makes him dizzy. He brings his arm up and leaves a kiss on his wrist. Then up, and another, all along his arm. He adds lipstick to his lips when needed, and, when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he swears he can't beathe because his body is finally being painted again and it looks_ so real_.

He suddenly sees lips that are not his own and he feels hands and he sees eyes so dark it would almost scare him if the fire in his stomach wasn’t burning so warm and high, if the flame inside wasn’t scarier than eyes showing sanity being eaten away.

He sees things that aren’t there, feels things that aren’t there, and his imagination takes over his last remaining logical thought. He lets his hand travel and then he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! I'll see you soon for another chapter. Only 2 or 3 left max 👀👀
> 
> Take care, stay safe, drink lots of water and don't skip meals.  
Much love,   
Em xx


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